Thankful for Nothing

There once was a child who was poor. He had just entered that age when material things started to matter. He now had reason enough to wish for things, and he also had innocence enough to believe they’d come. He intuitively knew his family was poorer than the others, but it didn’t matter, he was taught that “Santa delivers gifts to ALL the nice children of the world. Rich or poor.” That year, Santa had a job. So even though Santa “Forgot” or was just “Too much in a rush” to fulfill every request on the nice child’s list, it was okay because empty handed he was not. Months passed by, and this child new that being nice paid off. But being extra nice would have to pay off even more next Christmas--perhaps a list of wishes entirely fulfilled. Santa, however, would spent most of the next year seeking work… ironic for such a busy fellow. On the next Christmas day, the young boy saw sadly out his window as other kids played with new toys, new clothes, and new joy. And all he had received was two things, emptiness and confusion. How could Santa do this if he was so nice all year—nice than last year even! Over the next few months he would work his young mind to figure out the mystery. He started to see that the idea of Santa Claus was flawed in many ways. And not just on Christmas day. It wasn’t always as simple as being naughty or nice. Little by little, the idea of Santa repulsed him. He wanted to no longer believe. But alas, he had nothing else to believe in. So he just made some “minor adjustments” instead to the idea called Santa Claus. The list would be shorter, the items would be cheaper. The definition of “Nice” wouldn’t be as strict. Santa’s income would even be considered. What a mature kid. But maturity and all, something still felt wrong. He wanted to continue believing, even if he knew he didn’t because believing feels good. It was an uncomfortable feeling. On the week of Thanksgiving, Santa lost his job again. On Wednesday, the boy’s best friend invited, “Hey, me and my dad are going to camp out at Best Buy for Black Friday. Wanna come?” There they were again, the boy’s most prized possessions, emptiness and confusion. No Black Friday. Little to no hope for a good Christmas. But Thanksgiving would not be held back--at least not by the calendar. On the morning of Thanksgiving, the young boy woke up and went to the fridge. Nothing. A bunch of nothing everywhere. And what made it worse is that he knew that in his entire block, his family had to be the only one with so much nothing. So he would not spend months analyzing again. This time, he just made it simpler on himself, “I don’t believe, period!” As the years passed he realized that gifts don’t just come out of the sky. Food doesn’t either. In fact, Santa’s job doesn't either, ironically. He realized that what he was taught wasn’t always right. He realized good intentions don’t always produce truths. And just as he was beginning to discover hard truths, he lost both his parents one tragic day. Now an orphan, but not quite yet an adult, he’d have to rely on another lesson learned as a child, “Heavenly Father.” Perhaps if that man were real, then he wouldn’t actually be an orphan. And as the years passed, on some moments Heavenly Father seemed closer, and on some not so much. He realized that the “Heavenly Father” and the “Santa Claus” he was taught about were really quite similar. They didn’t function magically. The requests to Heavenly Father were less materialistic of course. “Father, please take away this feeling of emptiness and confusion that has been with me over the years.” He would often say, “I find myself silently in the arms of my constant companion, loneliness. Take it away.” And some days those prayers seemed answered, others not so much. But he wouldn’t stop praying, until one day in the midst of all these prayers, he fell ill. The pain was excruciating. It was constant. It was uncontrollable. The doctors would check him physically and promise tests and results, IV’s and medications. But they didn’t know that he was carrying an illness inside that wouldn’t show up on any CAT scan. After all, how do you image loneliness? He felt misunderstood, alone, like a fake who could no longer fake it… and it was then that he realized, “I want to die!” He sat in that hospital bed thinking while the nurse stepped away, “Who am I kidding? I want to die! I don’t have a purpose here, I’m not needed, I’m not loved, I don’t love, I’m not essential or sincerely functional. And the routine keeps killing me every day!” But it was at that moment that the medicine flowing through his IV finally took full effect, and put him to sleep. After a couple hours he awoke. Still feeling silently unhappy, but at least the physical pain had seemed to go away. So he went home with medicine and with the doctor’s instructions. He managed to fall asleep for the next 10 hours. The next day as he got up to have breakfast and to take his medicine, the image of himself sitting on a hospital bed genuinely wishing to be dead kept flashing before his eyes and his soul. And the more he saw that, the more tears fell down his face. He finally realized, “I am nothing.” But nothing meant something. It meant he was not a child someone needed to mold. It meant he was neither a believer nor a non-believer. It meant he was not an orphan. It meant the God he was taught about was nothing, for if he was nothing, God was nothing. It meant the answered and the unanswered prayers were nothing. It meant he was not genuine, but not a fake. It meant he no longer had to willingly, unwillingly or intuitively live on a mold of ideas and morals which he did not help design. It meant he was simply there, with a chance to start from zero again. It was Nothing…on HIS TERMS. Thank you for nothing. Happy Thanksgiving!